Chapter Eleven
What did you expect him to answer, Calliope?
Anything. But instead, he stood across from her like a storm just barely contained, jaw locked, shoulders tight, staring at her, eyes dark and fathomless, as though she’d asked him to lay bare every scar he’d ever hidden. His silence struck like a rebuke.
She hadn’t even meant to press.
At first, the question had just slipped out. Foolish. Brazen. Dangerous. A question that, once spoken, begged to be answered. Even the fact that she might have been used for something nefarious fell short beside the answer.
She wished she could look away. Pretend the answer didn’t matter.
But she knew better.
The answer mattered a great deal.
Stars, even if he told her she was his tenant, that would be something.
That was all she needed. Anything but that she was trouble.
A hindrance. A nuisance. And perhaps she was foolish to give sentiment to the question, but she couldn’t help herself.
Foolish, she knew. Irrational, she understood.
Yet, done, nonetheless. His lack of response, however, was telling enough.
Urgh. She wished the topic had never surfaced. She hated how the silence wedged itself in her head. His lack of answer struck her with a shocking truth.
Maxen wasn’t just a landlord.
He wasn’t just a beast who ruled this town.
He wasn’t just danger itself.
He was where she felt most secure. The one place her fears seemed to hush. He ruled shadows, yes, but with him, she wasn’t afraid of the dark.
And she . . .
She ruled nothing. Only a tiny shop. She fled.
She hid. She could never measure up to this man.
Never stand equal to him. Even now, with her carefully planned, peaceful life in shambles, she was being hidden away here in the “ship.” She would laugh at the irony if she didn’t want to scream at the injustice.
Calliope changed the subject before she was tempted to swing another boot at him. “And what if I don’t wish to stay here?”
Maxen said nothing. Didn’t move. Didn’t so much as blink at her.
The whole room seemed to take on a new hush.
Right, then. She simply didn’t have a choice. How long had her freedom lasted? Three months? Just a bit more?
“My hound . . .”
“I’ll have Reaper retrieve him and your belongings.”
Reaper groaned. “Why me? You know how I feel about dogs. They scare me.”
“Because you have the biggest mouth,” Maxen snapped.
Calliope slipped his coat from her shoulders and set it over the chair. “I’ll go with your brother.”
“No.” Final.
“Yes,” she challenged back. “I don’t want anyone rifling through my drawers.
” Stars. Her slipper! She’d almost completely forgotten about the thing!
She might have been brave enough to reveal her connection with Mr. Rollings, but not that she was the woman who’d lost the slipper.
They had already suspected her to be a spy at one point.
What would they suspect next if they discovered the truth?
Hah! Finding the slipper would serve him right, though!
“Then I’ll accompany you,” Maxen announced.
“No need. I’d rather your brother accompany me.” She arched a brow. “Unless you have a problem with not supervising.”
The eyes that bore into her flashed before he gave a curt nod.
She stepped past him—close enough that her shoulder brushed his—and forced herself to keep walking.
The nerves along her scalp prickled. How could it hurt to breathe so much?
She didn’t even look to see if his brother, Reaper, followed.
But she could feel all their eyes on her.
They burned like a hot poker, making her want to escape all the more.
Her hand reached for the doorknob.
“Calliope.”
Her name, a clipped command.
She stopped but didn’t turn around.
His voice came again, quieter now. Rougher. “Don’t take too long packing.”
Oh, I won’t.
She strode from the cursed place.
Seconds later, Reaper joined at her side, his broodiness palpable.
Well, hers should be, too. She’d certainly learned a valuable lesson tonight—ignore requests to meet at suspect places.
One would have thought she’d have learned this lesson the first time.
Tonight, however, had been an excellent reminder.
She could not afford to lose focus on her dream.
Only disappointing things happened when she did.
“You’re trouble,” the brother at her side suddenly said.
She glanced at him.
“You’re careless, too curious by half, and seem incapable of leaving things well enough alone. A bad combination in our world.”
Calliope averted her gaze. So, in the end, she was all the things she hadn’t wanted to be. Trouble. A hindrance. A nuisance.
Was this her curse?
Maxen hadn’t outright called her a burden—nor had his brothers, for that matter—but Calliope could read between the lines. Read between faces, pursed lips, stiff posture, and all that lay unsaid.
“Just who are you lot?” she muttered. Weren’t they the ones who were supposed to be trouble, hindrances, and nuisances? How was she once again the one to be made to feel this way?
“You said it yourself. We are the beasts of Brighton.”
“I heard that from someone else. I want to hear it from you.”
“That, little mouse, you’re safer not knowing.”
“Am I?” She wasn’t so sure about that anymore.
“Trust me, you are.”
Trust him? Heh! She trusted that he would obey his brother, but not much else. The only person she might ever rely upon, in the end, was herself. She alone was responsible for her life. Her happiness. Her future.
Calliope made a decision then.
She had not fled one cage merely to be thrust into another. Stars, no. She had come here to vanish, to live her small dream of freedom, not to be ensnared afresh. Given no choice in the matter.
You’re already ensnared, Calliope . . .
No, she refused to believe that.
They entered the shop in silence. Delay was not an option.
Without a word, she led him up the stairs.
Her living quarters were dark except for the natural light of the moon spilling through the windows.
Prince trotted over to greet her excitedly when they entered, and she patted his head to appease him, her gaze shifting to her bedroom.
Thank stars she had slipped her pistol beneath her pillow.
She headed directly for the bed.
“Like my brother said,” he called after her, footsteps soon following to the doorway of her chamber, “gather your belongings quickly so we can return.”
Prince trotted over curiously as she gripped the pistol in both hands. What did she do now? Ah, this was so much harder than how she imagined in her mind! Drawing in a deep breath, she remained with her back to him and nodded at the chair by the window. “There.”
He didn’t question her, merely strode over. “What’s here?”
Calliope turned and leveled the pistol straight at his chest.
He glanced over his shoulder and froze, turning slowly back to face her, and for the first time since they’d met, he looked utterly, dangerously solemn. All the good nature left his gaze, leaving only ice-cold instinct. There was the beast. The change confirmed she’d made the right decision.
“I’m afraid I have other plans tonight.”
*
The moment the door shut behind Reaper, Maxen had set after them, only to be stopped by Dagger’s low drawl.
“I wouldn’t.”
He froze mid-stride and turned to glare at his brother. “Why the devil not?”
Dagger lounged back, idly swirling his glass. “Just give the woman some space. Nothing will happen to her with Reaper there.”
Space? What did damn space have to do with anything? “She won’t even know I’m following.”
“But he will.”
Damn it.
Maxen clenched his fists, directing his glare at his coat she’d left behind.
Dagger was right. If he followed now, Reaper would never let him hear the end of his mockery, which meant she would hear of his lapse, too—and accuse him of all manner of things far from the truth.
And that was how far he’d fallen into this wretched unsettlement.
“You should’ve just answered her,” Knight said.
“And said what, exactly?” Maxen growled. “What the devil is there to say?”
“Anything but nothing,” Saint said quietly. “Even I know that.”
His jaw locked so tight his teeth ached. He needed to move. Needed to do something. Anything. Waiting never suited him. Not in situations where his whole body commanded him to act. Especially now that Saint’s words wrapped around him like damn stinging nettles.
Anything but nothing.
He simply hadn’t known how to speak the answer to that question.
Who was she to him?
She was his tenant. His responsibility. His puzzle.
His—confound it. There was the knot. Right bloody there.
The reason she’d chosen his brother over him to go with her.
And now she was out there, dressed in those intoxicating trousers, defenseless, mostly, and clever enough to run circles around Reaper if she wanted to. And she might want to.
Unease burrowed in his gut.
He grabbed his coat from the chair and shrugged it on.
“Maxen,” Dagger warned again. “Don’t do something you’ll regret.”
He scowled. “I’m not following her.”
“Since when do we lie to each other?”
He cast his brother a dark look. “I’m not bloody lying.”
Dagger arched a brow, shoving to his feet. “Where are you going, then?”
“Rooftop.”
“So you are following her.”
Maxen gave his brother a grim smile. “No. I’m watching for her. There’s a damn difference.”
“I’ll join you,” Knight spoke up.
Saint and Dagger nodded their agreement.
Fine. He had barnacles.
Maxen didn’t wait. He stalked toward the back, shouldered through the door, and cut left into the narrow corridor.
Past the storeroom, through another door, and up the iron stairs.
He took them two at a time, impatient. He’d climbed them a thousand times, usually with a clear head and a single purpose.
Tonight, his thoughts were scattered, circling one name that refused to let him go.
The space widened as he emerged onto Fury’s rooftop. The night lay unnaturally quiet, broken only by the distant wash of the waves along the shoreline. He strode over to the ledge, the Lanes unfurling beneath him like a sleeping beast.
Beast . . .
Much like him, no?
Maxen crouched on the edge, watching for movement, the cold slowly creeping into his bones. He could make out the rooflines along her street, but the street itself lay hidden from view.
He shouldn’t have let her go. Had made an error shrugging off her question as irrelevant the first time. She clearly believed otherwise. If only he could read her mind to know what answer she wanted from him. He grunted. If only life were sweet dreams and clear blue skies.
Bloody fanciful.
Dagger crouched beside him. “I’m worried about Serpent,” his brother admitted. “And you, for that matter, but Serpent takes precedence since his whole person is missing. You’re just missing your head.”
Knight and Saint echoed their agreement.
Maxen’s face darkened. “We’ll find him.”
Dagger gave a curt nod. “I know. I’m just worried he won’t be alive when we do.”
Maxen didn’t say anything to that. Whoever was behind these little schemes was toying with them, not killing them. At least not yet. However, they had resorted to using Calliope.
That was unacceptable.
Everything was going to hell at once. That was the main reason he’d decided to lock things down and tighten the ship. Another was that his mind always kept circling back to her, a growing weakness, and he wanted to, needed to, keep her close.
“She’s not what we expected,” Knight said from his other side.
“She’s something,” Maxen muttered. “More than I can make sense of.”
Saint hunched down in the corner farthest from them. “I’m happy for you.”
“What the bloody hell does that mean?” Maxen snapped.
“He means you trail,” Dagger pointed out. “You hover. You watch. You had her sleep at one of your dens. In your bed. When have we ever let women into our private rooms?”
“I had no other choice.” Should he have left her to her own devices? Out of the question. Beyond imagining. In no realm of possibility.
“There is always another choice,” Knight said.
Maxen clenched his hands a few times. Fine. He did do all those things. Did his brothers have to be on his arse about it? “Have we learned anything about John Fitz?”
Dagger shook his head. “Drake has sent inquiries to London.”
Still too many unknowns.
He hated unknowns.
“I shouldn’t have let her go alone,” Maxen muttered, jaw clenching.
Reaper’s “Why me?” came to haunt him in that moment.
Yes, why did he have to send that arse? He should have taken responsibility for her belongings.
She was, after all, his responsibility. Sending another man felt efficient in theory.
In practice, the whole thing tasted like abdication.
“She’s not alone,” Dagger said.
No, she wasn’t.
But that didn’t bring him any damn comfort.
Not when the woman who had turned him inside out had disappeared from his view. Not when so many rows of buildings blocked his view, and not when all he could do was wait. His eyes narrowed into the distance.
“Something’s not right.” Maxen rose to his feet. He knew it as surely as he knew the sky above him was black.
“Are you certain?” Dagger asked.
“Yes.”
Knight glanced over. “She’s a woman. She’s angry. That might be what’s not right.”
No, this was something else. Something in the air.
His gut was hollowing in warning.
Maxen spun on his heel and strode to the door. They needed to go. Now.